He was so overwhelmed with the offer and the request, his eyes nearly popped out of his head. "I'll stick."
"Good. Bowers is going to give you grief over this."
He grimaced. "I'm getting used to it."
It was an opening to ask him more, to pump him for some details on Bowers. She let it pass, not wanting to put a rookie in the position of ratting on his own trainer. "Fine, then. Go back to your station and write your report. If you come across anything you think might apply to this case, get in touch with either me or Peabody."
She headed to her office, already issuing orders to Peabody to have the interview disc duped. "And let's get the rundown on known dealers in that area. We can't absolutely rule out the illegals connection. I can't think of a chemi-dealer who offs his deadbeat clients by surgically removing vital organs, but stranger things have happened. We'll run known cults, too," she continued as Peabody input the orders into her memo pad. "It feels wrong, but we'll give it some attention."
"I can contact Isis," Peabody suggested, referring to a Wiccan they had dealt with on another case. "She might know if any of the black magic cults have a routine like this."
Eve grunted, nodded, and caught the glide with Peabody beside her. "Yeah, use the connection. Let's get that angle eliminated."
She glanced toward the window wall where the glass tubes she avoided like poison carried cops, clerks, and civilians up and down the outside of the building. Beyond them she saw a pair of air support units scream off to the west, blasting between an advertising blimp and a commuter tram.
Inside, the pulse of the building was fast and strong. Voices, rushing feet, a crowd of bodies with jobs to do. It was a rhythm she understood. She glanced at her wrist unit, oddly pleased to see it was barely nine. She'd been on duty four hours, and the day was just getting started.
"And let's see if we can get a real ID on the victim," she continued when they stepped off the glide. "We got his prints and DNA sample. If Morris is into the postmortem, he should at least have an approximate age."
"I'll get right on it." Peabody swung left, heading through the bullpen as Eve turned into her office. It was small, but she preferred it that way. The single window was narrow, letting in little light and entirely too much noise from air traffic. But the AutoChef worked and was stocked with Roarke's impeccable coffee.
She ordered a mug, then sighed as the rich, strong scent of it tickled her system. Sitting down, she engaged her tele-link with the intention of harassing Morris.
"I know he's doing a PM," she said to the assistant who tried to block her. "I have some information for him concerning the body. Put me through."
She leaned back in her chair, indulged herself with coffee, drummed her fingers against the mug, and waited.
"Dallas." Morris's face swam on-screen. "You know how I hate being interrupted when I've got my hands in someone's brains."
"I have a witness who puts two people on the scene. Big shiny car, nice shiny shoes. One carried a leather bag, the other a white bag that made – I quote – sloshy noises. Ring any bells?"
"I hear a ding," Morris said, frowning now. "Your witness see what happened?"
"No, he's a brewhead, slept through most of it. They were gone when he woke up, but according to the time line, he discovered the body. Would that sloshy bag be what I think it would be?"
"Could be an organ transport sack. This is neat, professional work here, Dallas. First-rate major organ removal. I've got some of the blood work back. Your victim was given a nice, comfy dose of anesthesia. He never felt a thing. But if what's left in him is any indication, the heart was next to worthless. His liver's shot, his kidneys are a mess. His lungs are the color of a coal mine. This is not someone who bothered with anticancer vaccines or regular medical treatments. His body's full of disease. I'd have given him six months, tops, before he'd have kicked from natural causes."
"So they took a worthless heart," Eve mused. "Maybe they figure on passing it off as a good one."
"If it's like the rest of him, a first-year med student would spot the condition."
"They wanted it. It's too damn much trouble to go through just to kill some sidewalk sleeper."
Possibilities circled in her mind. Revenge, some weird cult, a black-market scam. Kicks, entertainment. Practice.
"You said it was first-rate work. How many surgeons in the city could handle it?"
"I'm a dead doctor," Morris said with a ghost of a smile. "Live ones don't run in the same circles. Snazziest private hospital in New York would be the Drake Center. I'd start there."
"Thanks, Morris. I can use the final reports as soon as you can manage it."
"Then let me get back to my brain." With that, he ended transmission.
Eve turned to her computer, eyes narrowed. It was making a suspicious buzzing noise, one she'd reported twice to the jokers in maintenance. She leaned toward it, teeth bared in threat.
"Computer, you sack of shit, search for data on the Drake Center, medical facility, New York City."
Working…
It hiccupped, whined, and the screen flashed into an alarming red that seared the eyes. "Default to blue screen, damn it."
Internal error. Blue screen is unavailable. Continue search?
"I hate you." But she adjusted her eyes. "Continue search."
Searching… The Drake Center of Medicine, located Second Avenue, New York City, established 2023 in honor of Walter C. Drake, credited with the discovery of anticancer vaccine. This is a private facility, which includes hospital and health care clinics, rated Class A by the American Medical Association, teaching and training facilities also rated Class A, as well as research and development laboratories with Class A ratings. Do you wish list of board members on all facilities?
"Yes, on screen and hard copy."
Working… Internal error.
There was a distinct increase in the buzzing noise, and the screen began to shimmer.
Please repeat command.
"I'm going to eat those maintenance assholes for lunch."
Command does not compute. Do you wish to order lunch?
"Ha ha. No. List board members on all facilities of the Drake Center of Medicine."
Working… Health Center Board: Colin Cagney, Lucille Mendez, Tia Wo, Michael Waverly, Charlotte Mira…
"Dr. Mira," Eve murmured. It was a good connection. The doctor was one of the top criminal profilers in the city and affiliated with the New York Police and Security Department. She was also a personal friend.
Eve drummed her fingers, listening to the names of the board of the teaching facilities. One or two vaguely rang a bell, but the ringing became louder when the computer reached the board of the research and development arm.
Carlotta Zemway, Roarke -
"Hold it, hold it." Her drumming fingers curled into fists. "Roarke? Damn it, damn it, damn it, can't he stay out of anything?"
Please rephrase question.
"Shut the hell up." Eve pressed her fingers to her eyes; sighed. "Continue list," she ordered as her stomach continued to sink. "Print out, then disengage."
Internal error. Unable to comply with multiple commands at this time.
She didn't scream, but she wanted to.
After a frustrating twenty minutes of waiting for the data to dribble out, she swung through the detectives' bullpen and around to the stingy area where aides and adjutants were penned in cubicles the size of a drying tube.
"Peabody, I have to head out."
"I've got data incoming. Do you want me to transfer it to my portable unit?"
"No, you stay here, finish the runs. I shouldn't be more than a couple of hours. When you're done with this, I want you to go find a hammer."
Peabody had taken out her memo book, nearly plugged in the order, when she stopped, frowned up at Eve. "Sir? A hammer?"
"That's right. A really big, heavy hammer. Then you take it into my office and beat that fucking useless excuse for a data spitter on my desk to dust."